


Lost

by Qwae29



Series: Force of Providence [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwae29/pseuds/Qwae29
Summary: After the traumas and tragedies of Undone, can master and padawan find their way back to who and what they were?





	1. The Young and the Restless

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: After a long hiatus, I’d like to welcome you to the third installment in my Force of Providence series. Though I will try to post fairly regularly I must admit that may not always be possible as my inspiration of late has come in fits and spurts. If there are those of you who are also reading Human at this time, know that I haven’t given up on that story. This one was just pulling at me and its plot bunny has been ruthless! Lost starts immediately after the events of Undone. Enjoy!
> 
> A/N 2: As mentioned above, this is the third book in this series. Book one, Bound, and book two, Undone, can be found on my profile page. I highly recommend you read the previous books before beginning this one; however, this story can stand-alone.
> 
> A/N 3: Big thanks to my lovely and wonderful beta Maevependergast. I still couldn’t resist tweaking somethings so all mistakes found here are mine.

__

_> >>>>>>>HEALER’S REPORT<<<<<<<_

**_Submitted by:_ ** _Master Healer Ar Songe_

**_Submitted to:_ ** _The Jedi High Council_

**_Regarding:_ ** _Training Accident_

**_Name:_ ** _Mir, Lantis_

**_Species:_ ** _Felinoid_

**_Gender:_ ** _Female_

**_Maturity:_ ** _13 years standard_

**_Rank:_ ** _Padawan_

**_Description of Incident:_ ** _Patient was performing aerial maneuvers on secondary and tertiary bars in the main gymnasium when she fell from a height of approximately 7.62 meters. Witness reports indicate that patient did not attempt to brace herself from impact. Patient injuries are consistent with eyewitness observations. I arrived on the scene approximately six minutes after the incident occurred. At that time, patient was bleeding profusely from a head laceration. She was conscious, but severely disoriented. Patient was loaded onto a hover sled. She lost consciousness en route to Healing Halls._

**_Diagnosis:_ ** _Preliminary examination of patient revealed multiple rib fractures, a clavicle fracture, a skull fracture, a fracture of her right femur, a fracture of her right fibula and tibia, several lacerations including one on her scalp, and several deep tissue contusions. A degree two Force scan revealed multiple internal injuries and bleeding. Patient was in beginning stages of hemorrhagic shock. Patient was immediately prepped for surgery. Surgery revealed further injuries of spleen damage, liver lacerations, right kidney damage, and swelling along the spinal column spanning from L3-L7. A more definitive assessment of the spinal injury could not be made at that time due to the excessive swelling._

**_Treatment:_ ** _Internal damage to spleen, liver, and right kidney was repaired during a seven-hour surgery. Patient was then placed in bacta submersion for 68 hours. Fractures have mended appropriately, however, the trauma and bruising of the surrounding tissue will take several days to fully heal. Swelling along the patient’s vertebrae has not decreased. Patient has yet to regain consciousness._

**_Prognosis:_ ** _Patient is expected to make a full recovery from her internal injuries as well as her multiple fractures. However, the swelling around her spinal cord may be hiding other injuries. Paralysis of lower extremities is highly likely. Duration of paralysis, if present, is unknown._

**_Healer’s Notes:_ ** _At the time of my first appraisal of Padawan Mir’s injuries on the gymnasium floor, I was unsure of her survival chances. However, I am very pleased with the present outcome. Mir’s surgery went very well and my staff and I were able to repair all of the organ damage she suffered from the fall. A lengthy stint in the bacta tank has also repaired the most grievous of the physical damage. What concerns me is the swelling along the lumbar section of her spinal column. I had hoped that time and bacta would have lessened the inflammation by now, but there has been no discernable change. Several individual assessments have revealed that, currently, Lantis is paralyzed from the waist down. The exact extent and permanence of the paralysis is anyone’s guess. Her master, Master Tivi, has not yet been told of his padawan’s paralysis. I am greatly concerned about what his reaction will be to such news. That is not to say that Master Tivi has behaved in an inappropriate or un-Jedi like manner; however, such a catastrophic injury to one’s padawan is nearly certain to unbalance the anyone’s serenity and as Lantis has still not regained consciousness… I, of course, will do my duty, but this is one message I wish I did not have to deliver._

_End Report._

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Ar Songe was not dawdling. He really wasn’t. A Jedi is calm, serene, placid, therefore the Master’s slow and steady gait was simply a reflection of that inner serenity and not a totally conscious method of delaying a conversation he was loathed to have. Ar paused in the corridor directly outside of one of his patient’s room. With a mental slap to himself and a deep breath, he tightened his control and released his anxiety into the Force. He was a master healer, damn it. He had delivered bad news before, far worse news than this, but it was always trying on him. It was worse still when the subject of the bad news was someone so young. With his equanimity restored and his slightly detached healer's resolve in place, Ar waved opened the door and stepped inside the small space. 

            The scene before him was exactly the one he had come to expect. Lantis lay still and silent on the medical couch, the small rise and fall of her chest and the constant beep of various monitors the only obvious testament to non-Force sensitives that the young one lived. To those with an affinity to the Force, one could see the still bright aura that surrounded the small form tucked under the light bedclothes. The aura nearest her, however, was significantly darker. Not the muddy eddies of someone dabbling with the Dark side, but instead the stifling gray desperation and exhaustion of someone in great pain but who was trying diligently to not let that pain overwhelm him. 

            “Master Tivi,” Ar spoke unnecessarily softly. The white-haired Jedi Master did not look back, but a small dip of his head accompanied the acknowledgement of his words.

            “Master Songe,” Vresh replied in an equally hushed voice. The healer stepped forward to ostensibly check the various monitors illustrating Lantis’s bio-signs. He glanced at the master across the bed from him, taking in his haggard appearance and darkened skin under his eyes.

            “She still hasn’t awakened,” the master stated breaking the heavy silence between the two Jedi. “Shouldn’t she be awake by now?”

            “Not necessarily,” Ar answered as he turned towards the bed and its single occupant. “With the head trauma she suffered it is not unexpected that she would remain unconscious for several days. I could wake her with stimulants, but I would rather let her body heal and wake naturally,” he paused then tilted his head in consideration of both master and padawan. “We shall wait another day or two. If she has not awakened by then, we can reconsider the matter.”

            Vresh didn’t reply verbally, only gave a sharp nod of his head. His eyes never left his padawan’s face. Ar took a deep breath and began speaking the words that needed to be said, but wouldn’t want to be heard.

            “Master Tivi, there is something we must discuss about your padawan’s recovery,” the master healer paused for some recognition, but when he received only silence he pressed on. “All of the internal damage has been repaired by the surgery and bacta has mended the other injuries; however, there is still an area of concern. During the surgery, we noticed significant inflammation around her lower spine. The inflammation prevented us from ascertain what, if any, injury lay beneath at that time. I had hoped that the bacta would alleviate the swelling, but so far it is unchanged.”

            “What does that mean? The swelling…” Vresh asked finally taking his eyes off his padawan and looking at the healer. Ar’s mouth formed a hard, thin line, but his eyes showed nothing but compassion.

            “It means that, at this moment, your padawan is paralyzed from the waist down.” 

            Vresh swallowed visibly as he searched the healer’s eyes then turned back to his apprentice. He took the small furred paw in his hand. When he spoke again his voice was scarcely above a whisper.

            “Is it permanent?”

            Ar could hear the unvoiced plea in his voice, but the oath he took as a healer would not let him tergiversate. He would speak plainly regarding the padawan’s prognosis.

            “The duration of this paralysis depends greatly on how profound her spinal injury is. Right now, there is a great a chance that she will recover completely as there is that she will never walk again and there is a vast spectrum of recovery in between,” Ar said as he reached out and placed a hand on Vresh’s shoulder. “We won’t know anything until the swelling goes down. There is no reason to lose hope. She is young and strong and she has the Force.”

            “I know,” Vresh answered softly as he squeezed the small paw under his large hand. “She will recover. She has to.”

            Ar didn’t know how to respond to that. The vehemence behind the master’s words and the sudden surge of intensity he felt through the Force almost caused the master healer to stagger. Vresh, however, appeared oblivious as his focus never shifted; the larger world falling anyway under his regard for his padawan.

            Ar turned and left the room quietly, gathering his calm before moving further down the hall and entering another patient room. This room was considerably larger than the last as it was meant to and was currently housing two occupants. Or at least it was supposed to be Ar thought with a frown. The medical couch immediately visible upon entering the room was empty. However, the mystery of its missing patient was quickly solved when Ar took in the rest of the room. On the second medical couch lay both Master Jinn and his padawan, Obi-Wan. The young boy was tucked into the older man’s large frame, his small arms wrapped around the man’s rib cage, the man cradling the smaller body in a protective embrace. Ar was preparing to leave when dark blue eyes caught his own.

            “I apologize. It was not my intention to disturb you,” the healer spoke softly in deference to the still sleeping youth. “He had not been sleeping well. Unconsciousness or sedated rest yes, but not simple, restorative sleep.”

            Qui-Gon looked down at the crop of auburn hair pressed against his medical tunic.

            “Very little of late has been simple for him,” he answered ruefully as he gently carded through the boy’s short locks. Reflexively the thin arms tightened around the master’s torso as Obi-Wan burrowed deeper into the embrace. Ar found himself smiling lightly.

            “The young often have a resiliency that we lack in our elder years. It will take time and work, but he will recover from this. You both will.”

            “Yes, we will,” Qui-Gon answered softly, but with the steely determination he was known for.

            “It will not be easy.”

            “Very few things worth having are,” Qui-Gon replied as he brought his gaze from his apprentice to the Mirialan healer. “What he has endured has largely been because of my poor decisions. It is only appropriate that I repair the damage that has been done. He is my padawan. I will not let him deal with this alone. Not while I have breath in my body.”

            “That is as it should be, but your self-recrimination has no place here. You must let those feelings go if you both are to heal.”

            “Moonlighting in the soul healer’s ward?” Qui-Gon retorted with wry grin. Ar gave a polite nod and returned the smile.

            “In between caring for injured padawans and their obstinate masters,” the healer returned in jest, but the tease fell flat as Qui-Gon’s expression turned more somber. 

            “Has she awakened?”

            “No,” Ar replied with a heavy sigh. Qui-Gon studied the healer’s face intently.

            “There is something that concerns you,” he stated, not asking. Ar nodded.

            “Yes, but perhaps not what you think. She is paralyzed from the waist down,” Ar said raising a delicate hand to forestall Qui-Gon’s expression of dismay. “It is uncertain whether or not it will be a permanent condition. At present, I am far more concerned with her master.”

            “Vresh? Why?” Qui-Gon asked, surprise suffusing his features. Ar cocked his head to one side.

            “As a master yourself, I am surprised you have to ask,” he retorted. “He sits vigil by her bedside night and day, leaving only when he was summoned by the Council. He eats rarely and sleeps less.”

            “I doubt that I would act much differently in his place,” Qui-Gon replied mildly. Ar dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

            “Perhaps, but it serves no good to anyone if he becomes my patient as well.”

            “Is it that serious?”

            “We are approaching that point yes.”

            Qui-Gon nodded and glanced down at the sleeping youth in his arms. Looking at Obi-Wan’s face relaxed in slumber he knew exactly how his friend felt. The urge to protect, to comfort, to be there was undeniable. A master was responsible for his padawan in nearly every way. The need to guard their charges from harm almost parental in its intensity. Yes, he knew why Vresh sat vigil for Lantis and why the man would continue to do so without thought for the toll on himself. Qui-Gon looked back at Ar.

            “I will speak with him.”

            “No,” Ar replied surprising him. The healer noticed his bewilderment and gestured to the sleeping child in his arms. “He needs you more right now.”

            Qui-Gon nodded then spoke again.

            “Speak to Master Uvain. She excels at thumping even the most obstinate amongst us,” he said with a knowing grin. Ar tilted his head in acknowledgement. 

            “I shall do just that, in the meantime,” Ar said as he turned to leave, “I expect you to learn from his poor example.”

            “I will do what I must,” Qui-Gon replied in a low, gravelly tone that was immediately belied by the mischievous glint in his eye. Had Ar Songe been anything but a Jedi, he might have rolled his eyes at the intentionally challenging response. As it was, Master Songe merely paused for one heartbeat within his few strides leading him out of the room and into the corridor.


	2. Wake-up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But if his Force signature is as unbalanced as you say, he could prove a danger to himself.”  
> “And to other patients in the ward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            It was still quite early when Ar Songe finished his morning rounds and left the Healing Halls to follow up on Master Jinn’s recommendation. Life in the Temple was already buzzing with a gentle wakefulness as the first wave of Jedi and the clans from the crèche began their journeys to the refectory for firstmeal. Ar gave polite nods of greeting at many of the masters and a few of the knights he passed. He gave a smile and a wave to the still sleepy-eyed members of the Clawmouse Clan as their crèche master herded them by. There was still a smile on his heavily tattooed face when he reached the desired door on one of the masters’ halls of residence. After a quick check of his robes and with his expression schooled to one of gentle serenity, Ar pressed the door chime to alert the Jedi in residence of his request for entrance. It was only the matter of a scant few heartbeats before the door slid open to reveal the master he sought.

            “Master Uvain,” he greeted with a deep bow.

            “Master Songe,” Tahl greeted, surprise evident in widened stripped eyes. “Please, come in,” she said as she stepped aside in a clearly welcoming gesture. Ar gave another slight bow before crossing the threshold to her quarters, but he was brought up short as he quickly realized she was not alone.

            “My apologies. I did not know you already had guests.”

            “It’s fine, Ar,” Tahl replied as she let the door slide close behind her. “Would you like some tea? I believe there is still hot water in the kettle.”

            “Thank you, but no. I’m afraid this will not be a long visit as I am still on shift in the ward, but I wanted to speak to you in person.”

            Though he had endeavored to keep his tone neutral, something in it must have sparked a note of anxiety with the other Jedi in the room. Mace, who had thus far sat quietly on the couch, suddenly leaned forward and levered his intense gaze upon the master healer.

            “Has something occurred with one of your patients?” the Councilor intoned.

            “Not with one of my patients, no,” the healer responded carefully. Tahl took a seat beside Mace on the couch and gestured to the empty armchair to her left. Ar pulled his cloak beneath him as he took the offered seat. Both Jedi remained quiet, apparently waiting for him to elaborate.

            “Padawan Kenobi has fully recovered from his physical injuries and Master Jinn is well on his way to doing the same.”

            “And Padawan Mir?” Mace asked nearly interrupting him.

            “Her condition is unchanged since last reported to the Council,” he replied. “She has not yet awakened, however, if she remains unconscious much longer we may choose to rouse her by artificial means. At this point, my concern is for her master.”

            “Vresh? Why?” Tahl asked beating a frowning Windu to the punch.

            “You are aware of Master Tivi’s… proclivities towards stubbornness?” Ar stated in unnecessary diplomacy. Mace sighed, the lines in his forehead deepening.

            “A profound awareness,” he groused as Tahl badly concealed a soft laugh behind her hand.

            “He refuses to leave her side ignoring his own needs for sustenance and sleep. His emotions are as erratic as his Force signature.”

            “That kind of single-minded, over protective nature is not uncommon for masters, especially those of junior padawans,” Tahl countered. Ar dipped his head in acknowledgement.

            “But if his Force signature is as unbalanced as you say,” Mace began. “He could prove a danger to himself.”

            “And to other patients in the ward. Unintentionally, mind you,” Ar quickly added forestalling the objection he saw forming on Tahl’s lips. “As far as I can tell he is either unwilling or unable to meditate. The result of remaining in such a high stress state is severely affecting his control. I could forcibly sedate him, but I would rather not resort to such… blunt action if it can be avoided.”

            Mace gave the master healer a sharp nod.

            “Agreed. I will order him to return to his quarters.”

            “An order he would likely follow,” Ar answered hesitatingly.

            “But?” Mace inquired.

            “But one just as likely to engender severe resentment and returning to his quarters, in and of itself, may not necessarily equate to eating and sleeping.”

            “Then what do you suggest?” Mace asked and at this Ar smiled in a rare show of his mischievous nature.

            “It was suggested by Master Jinn that perhaps it was time unleash the only thing in our Jedi arsenal that is scarier than a Council directive,” he answered with a pointed look towards Tahl. Mace’s eyes followed his and a smile lit up his face.

            “You know for once I think Qui-Gon has the right idea,” he said. Tahl looked between the two masters and shook her head.

            “This is what all my years have come to -- wrangling gundark-brained masters? I should charge for this kind of service,” she sighed. Mace’s smile widened.

            “A Jedi seeks not profit.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            The dead do not dream. Only sleepers dream and the dead do not sleep. Sleep is for the living. But it has also been said that Jedi do not dream, not truly. They may see the certain past, the possible future, or even other presents on the tiny screens of their closed lids, but _dream_ they do not. So, when Obi-Wan awoke with his heart pounding against his ribs and gasping for breath, his legs caught in a tangle of bedclothes he is certain of two things.

            He is not dead.

            And he is not a Jedi.

            Because _he_ dreams…

 

 *     *     *     *     *

 

            “Padawan! Padawan! It’s alright. You are safe. You are safe,” Qui-Gon repeated as he gathered Obi-Wan’s small, thrashing limbs in an embrace. It was the second time in just a few hours the boy had fallen into the grips of a nightmare. He wasn’t awake yet. The bond they shared more open that it had been in days was flooded with bits and shadows of violence and the hiss of a falling red saber. Obi-Wan let out a small whimper and Qui-Gon instinctively tightened his grip ignoring the painful complaints of the fresh synthskin on his back. He continued to whisper calm entreaties in the child’s ear, but added another layer of comfort sent through their training bond.

            _/Padawan, wake up!/_

_/M…master?/_

_/I am here, Padawan, but I need you to wake for me./_

_/Yes, Master./_

            Ever obedient to his master, bruised lids began to lift until Qui-Gon found himself looking into eyes far more stormy gray than blue – a clear sign of the boy’s upset. It took only a few seconds of wakefulness before the boy turned his gaze away from his master, the bond turned bitter with traces of shame, disgust, anger, and fear.

            “None of that, Padawan,” Qui-Gon gently ordered as he placed a finger under the boy’s chin to pull his gaze back to his eyes. “It was just a nightmare, nothing more.”

            “Yes, Master,” came the soft reply, but Qui-Gon was not so easily fooled.

            “You do not believe me.” It was not a question, but Obi-Wan answered as if it were.

            “I know it was a nightmare,” he said as pulled away from his master and tucked his knees under his chin. Qui-Gon allowed the movement though the clearly self-protective gesture disturbed him.

            “But?” the master prompted. The slope of the boy’s shoulders rose and fell with a dramatic sigh.

            “But it wasn’t _just_ a nightmare, was it. It happened. It was real. You almost died and it’s my fault.”

            “It wasn’t your fault, Padawan and I didn’t die. I am here and I am whole.”

            “But you almost weren’t,” Obi-Wan said as he turned a defiant glare upon the master. “And that was my fault and you know it.”

            “I know no such thing,” Qui-Gon answered flatly and with more heat than he intended, but the boy appeared unfazed as he continued to stare down the older man a similar heat in his stormy eyes.

            “You were fighting Xanatos. If I hadn’t distracted you,”

            “I still could have been struck down,” Qui-Gon interrupted. He chose to ignore the wince that flashed across his apprentice’s features as he spoke. “Nothing is ever certain, Padawan, especially victory. Always in motion the future is.”

            At hearing the oh-so-familiar words of the Order’s Grand Master some of the fire in Obi-Wan’s eyes seemed to die out or at least bank down a bit. He turned his gaze away from his master and lowered his face between his knees in hiding. Qui-Gon let out a long, steady breath and collected his thoughts before speaking.

            “What you have had to deal with the past few months was more than you should have ever had to bear, young one, and yet you have done so bravely and with an aplomb far beyond your years, but that does not mean there won’t be scars, wounds, or consequences. You have suffered a significant trauma and you must heal from it, but healing takes time and it takes help. We can heal from this, Padawan. You and I, together,” Qui-Gon spoke softly as he placed a large, warm hand over the boy’s spine. “Obi-Wan, look at me please.”

            At least two deep breaths preceded the hesitant obedience that finally lifted the boy’s head. Qui-Gon moved his hand from the child’s back using it to cup one side of his face instead. With a calloused thumb, he gently brushed away the lonely tear that had escaped the boy’s tenacious control. The gesture emboldened a second tear to tempt escape and the master watched it roll, unbidden down the child’s other cheek.

            “You must release your guilt, little one. Xanatos alone bears the responsibility for what has happened and he will bear the consequences as well. He did not succeed. We did not die and he will never be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again, but he will still win if you cannot accept the truth that this is _not_ your fault. Let go of your guilt, Obi-Wan. It has no place between us.”

            “Yes, Master,” came the subdued response. Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan could not obey him just yet, but with time and patience, he believed that he could release his guilt – that they both could.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            The Halls of Healing were by their very design meant to instill calm and inspire healing. The lighting was bright, but not harsh. The palette of the walls and floor were pastel soft, but not melancholic. The decorative furnishings, scant though they were, were lively, but not cloying. Yes, it was all by design, purposeful, but to Vresh it was no more than a prison of forced tranquility.

            The old texts hidden deep within the Archive were forbidden to all but Council members, but Vresh knew of one text. He had discovered it as a padawan at Qui-Gon’s elbow. The two of them had snuck into the vault on a dare and in it they had come across an ancient treatise written on the Sith. In that tome, the two had read the Sith Code, but neither had the maturity nor life experience to even begin to comprehend its meaning. But here, today, at this time, a fragment of the first line repeated like a sickly mantra in Vresh’s mind.

_Peace is a lie…_

            Though he was no Sith and though he knew those words were untrue in the galactic whole, in a cold, stark room in the medical ward sitting beside his unconscious and gravely injured padawan, Vresh felt an undeniable kernel of truth in the sentiment.

            In this place, peace _was_ a lie. Serenity was a mask, a convenient veil placed over the eyes of the aching and grieving beings found within all because they were Jedi and a Jedi was serene.

            It was a lie.

            A well-intentioned falsehood because this Jedi was anything but serene. He was anything but calm. There was no peace within him.

            Vresh let out a long breath. She should be awake by now. This never should have happened. He should have gotten there faster. He never should have allowed her to go in the first place.

            Should. Should. Should. Such an absurd word. Things either were or were not. Do or do not. Did or did not. There was no room for _should_ in the Force. And yet… wasn’t that all the Force really was? The Force whispered of _shoulds_ , what a Jedi _should_ do, what events _should_ be and yet… the Force had permitted this to happen.

            The Force said this _should_ happen.

            “No,” came a tight whisper from Vresh’s throat. He closed his eyes and held on to the tiny paw in his hands a little tighter. “This cannot be the way.”

            Vresh swallowed around the knot in his throat, physically attempting to push down the white-hot anger simmering just beneath his skin. Semay. Severin. Lantis. No, not Lantis. He refused to count her among his greatest losses. She would live. She would wake. She would recover. He would accept no other outcome.

            The Force and its _shoulds_ be damned.

            Vresh took in a hitching breath and slowly let it out. The life of a Jedi was hard. He knew that. He accepted it, but he was more than just a Jedi. He was a man. Mortal. Human. Breakable. And despite all his years of training to the contrary, Vresh knew that if he were to lose Lantis it would end him. Her death would be the last of a trio of wounds from which he would never recover. He did not need his gift of foresight to know that truth.

            “Padawan,” he began his eyes still closed, head bowed, hands clasped around hers. “Please, wake up. There is so much more for you to do. So much more for you to see and more place for you to go. I will show it all to you, but first you have to wake up. You have to. Wake up, Padawan. I miss you.”

             His last words would have been unintelligible if anyone were listening closed up as his throat was with fear and grief. He gave no notice to the tears that ran freely down his cheeks nor did he feel the slight _shift_ in the tenor of the Force around him. In fact, he noticed no change in the Force at all until something shifted in his head. It was so small, so subtle that it too almost went unnoticed and, perhaps, might have still were it not accompanied by the quietest but most unmistakable of sounds.

            “Mmmm…”

            Vresh snapped up so fast his neck cracked, but he didn’t even notice it as he stood and hovered above his apprentice’s supine form. All he knew, all he could see were the thin, white lids struggling to open beneath his gaze. He reached a hand out behind him and turned the lights down to a soft glow, never once taking his eyes off that beautiful, furred face below him. Eventually, the lids lifted and, for a moment, Vresh thought he might actually explode from joy like the world’s happiest thermal detonator.

            “Mmm…mastah…”

            “Padawan,” Vresh whispered as tore his gaze away from his apprentice just long enough to pour out a small cup of water. He brought the rim to her short muzzle and allowed her to take a few tentative sips before he pulled the cup away and placed it back on the small table.

            “Padawan,” he repeated as he carefully stroked her whiskers. Beneath him, Lantis let out a purring sigh, her gaze still heavy with sleep.

            “Master,” she purred contentedly, then her eyes widened and Vresh felt a sharp burst of fear across the newly awakened training bond.

            “Obi-Wan! Master, Adaen is,” she started frantically, but Vresh immediately pushed calm reassurance down the bond as he continued to stroke her face.

            “All is well, Padawan. All is well. Everything has been dealt with and thanks to you no one was hurt,” he said tripping over the last word. “No one else,” he amended. “Obi-Wan is fine, thanks to you.”

            He finished the last with a gentle tap to his padawan’s nose.

            “So… it’s over? Everyone’s okay?” she asked and Vresh felt tears threatening in his eyes once again. He swallowed hard, resolutely holding the tears at bay while he answered.

            “Yes, Padawan. Everyone is fine. You should rest,” he said as he watched Lantis give up the fight to keep her eyes open. “Rest. Everyone is fine,” he whispered and even though the bond between them thrummed with contentment, Vresh could not help but taste the bitterness of his lie upon his lips.

 


	3. Of Masters and Padawans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had not realized until we returned tonight that Obi-Wan is in the midst of his Agondi Mortata.”  
> “I… I hadn’t realized.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Maeve Pendergast, my wonderful beta. I couldn’t resist making some changes, therefore the errors are all mine.

            The walk from the Halls of Healing seemed longer than usual and not all because of the patch of pain nestled snuggly between Qui-Gon’s shoulder blades. The saber wound on his back was healing well, but the ache remained along with the interminable burning itch that was the mark of integrating synthskin. His padawan’s injuries, a badly rolled ankle, had been tended to as well. Yet, the child still favored the foot, though he was trying to disguise it. A thoughtful crease formed on the master’s brow. The limp, he suspected, was likely a phantom pain more related to still fresh psychological wounds rather than any strained tendons or ligaments. Those soul wounds, the master knew, would have to be addressed as well and would not heal as easily as an ankle. But the child would heal, Qui-Gon was certain of that, and this time he would oversee the process himself from the beginning and only when he believed outside assistance was required would he allow it.

            Qui-Gon took in a deep breath then exhaled and with the exhalation released the negative emotions that had surfaced when he thought of Obi-Wan’s first session with a soul healer. _That will not happen again_ , Qui-Gon thought even as he allowed the last of his anger to flow out of him and into the Force.

            By the time master and padawan reached their apartment, Qui-Gon was once again anchored within his calm center. He palmed the door open and stepped inside, already looking forward to sitting down with a hot cup of sapir tea in his hands. So anticipated was that moment of relaxation it took him several seconds to realize that he had entered the apartment alone. The master turned to find his apprentice hovering in the doorway.

            “Padawan?”

            “It almost looks… normal,” was the softly spoken and distant reply. Qui-Gon frowned, his lips forming a tight line as he tried to deduce the boy’s meaning. He turned his attention to their bond only to find Obi-Wan’s mind tightly shielded against him. Another serious concern that had gotten lost amid more pressing problems.

            “Normal?” Qui-Gon repeated still unsure of what disturbed his padawan. Obi-Wan had not moved, had not ventured into their shared rooms but instead remained frozen at the threshold. His eyes darted over the space as if he were searching for something. Searching for what though, his master did not know.

            “Right… It almost looks right,” the boy answered then his eyes settled on the floor. “It’s not though…”

            Qui-Gon followed his apprentice’s gaze to the floor. He saw nothing of note at first, but once he scrutinized the space further he noticed a small patch of carpet that was darker than the rest. The angle was all wrong for any shadow meaning that the spot was likely a stain, buy why would a stain so strongly capture the boy’s attention? Even as Qui-Gon finished the thought the realization of what the stain _was_ crashed into his mind with all the nuance of a speeder hitting a duracrete wall.

            It was blood.

            The stain on the carpet was a blood stain.

            Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Mace had spoken to him briefly about Obi-Wan’s confrontation with Xanatos’s young agent, Adaen. Though Mace had not known the particulars of the event, he had deduced much from the condition of the Jinn/Kenobi common room. Scattered affects and broken furniture told of a heated struggle, but it was Adaen’s body, his corpse, that truly told the grisly tale.

            The room had been cleaned, of course. The furniture righted or replaced. Small items had been returned to their proper places and the space had been cleansed save for one spot. At that moment, Qui-Gon neither knew nor cared why the spot remained while all other signs of the earlier violence had been erased. All that mattered to stood trembling at his door.

            “Padawan,” the master called out gently. When he received no response, he moved closer to his shivering apprentice.

            _/Padawan./_ the master repeated, this time across their shared bond. Though Obi-Wan did not draw his gaze from the spot on the carpet, the mental contact elicited the attentive response that the master’s vocalization had not.

            _/Master./_

            _/Padawan, look at me please./_

            Slowly, almost diffidently, Obi-Wan turned his head, dragging his gaze up to his master’s face. The eyes that looked up at Qui-Gon were nearly full gray, a visibly despondent numbness chasing away the blue like rain-laden clouds over a morning sky. The master stifled a deep welling sigh.

            “Obi-Wan, remember what we spoke of in the healing ward. You must let your guilt go. As for the rest,” he said as he gestured vaguely to the stain and the room at large, “we will adjust and face it together.”

            “Yes, Master,” the boy replied and the master knew it was an automatic response, not so much given in understanding as it was ingrained obedience. Again, the master had to repress a sigh. _One day_ , he thought to himself, _can the child just have one day without feeling the weight of the galaxy pressing down upon him?_ Even to Qui-Gon’s mind it felt like a plea to the Force and perhaps it was. He was not one for wishing and yet this wish he hoped would be granted.

            “It is late and I think we will both enjoy sleeping in our own beds for a change, hmm?”

            “Yes, Master.” Another automatic response.

            “Rest well, Padawan. We have much to speak of, but it will keep ‘til morning,” Qui-Gon said as he lay a hand on the boy’s slender shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Off to bed with you.”

            “Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan replied. The boy then moved towards his room door, but not without a last glance at the indelible stain. At the close of his padawan’s door, Qui-Gon allowed his shoulders to slump. The ache across his back pushed forwards for his attention even as a comparable point of pain blossomed at his temples. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reached again for his calm center. It was several minutes before he achieved success and only then did he open his eyes. He retreated to the small kitchen and set himself to the task of making tea. He allowed his movements to happen automatically, letting the years of muscle memory move through the ritual without the need for conscious thought. He had just poured the steaming hot water into his small tea bowl when the door chime sounded. Qui-Gon left his cup on the counter and went to the door, palming it open to admit his guest.

            “I hope I am not disturbing you,” Mace greeted once the door slid open. Qui-Gon offered him a rueful smile as he stepped aside to allow the other Jedi entry.

            “Not at all. I was just pouring myself some tea. Would you like some?”

            “Yes, thank you,” Mace replied as he stepped into the familiar quarters of his friend. He took a seat on the couch and waited patiently until Qui-Gon returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea. The long-haired master handed one to his friend then took a seat in his armchair.

            “I heard you had been released from the ward. I wanted to see how you were doing,” Mace offered before taking a sip from his cup.

            “As expected I suppose,” Qui-Gon replied. “He found the stain.”

            Qui-Gon watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across the Korun Councilor’s face, all moving so fast he was unable to identify them.

            “I’ve put in with the quartermaster to have the carpet replaced, but it will take time. I apologize.”

            Qui-Gon dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand.

            “The shock of returning to our quarters would have been far worse without your timely intervention. For that alone, you have my thanks,” he said. Mace nodded, but didn’t speak. Qui-Gon expression became somber as he looked down into the dark waters of his tea cup, fixing his gaze there as he spoke in a quiet voice. “I had not realized until we returned tonight that Obi-Wan is in the midst of his Agondi Mortata.”

            The hand that held Mace’s cup froze midway to his lips. The Councilor turned to Qui-Gon with wide eyes.

            “I… I hadn’t realized,” he finally muttered before his expression return to its more neutral state. “After everything else… What are your plans?”

            Qui-Gon let out a soft, self-deprecatory snort, but kept his eyes on the placid surface of his cooling tea.

            “Plans? I haven’t the slightest idea,” he answered. “I’m lost, Mace and I need to find my way because Obi-Wan is depending on me. He needs me to help him through this, but… I can’t help thinking that he wouldn’t even need help if it weren’t for me.” Qui-Gon drew his gaze from his cup and looked across at his friend. “I did this to him. How can I trust myself to fix it?”

            Mace sat his cup down on the small table between them. He reached out and relieved Qui-Gon of his cup as well. He then looked directly at his friend and when he spoke his voice was calm, firm, and brooking no argument.

            “You did not do this to him, Qui-Gon. Xanatos did.”

            “Yes,” Qui-Gon hesitantly agreed. “But he did it to get to me. It was because of me, if not directly then certainly indirectly.”

            “Bantha shit,” Mace replied, his uncharacteristic use of profanity surprising Qui-Gon for a moment and, perhaps, that was just what the other man had intended. “It was Xanatos who chose the Dark. It was Xanatos who tried to kill you all those years ago. It was Xanatos who tried to kill you and Obi-Wan on Bandomeer. It was Xanatos who kidnapped and tortured Obi-Wan. It was Xanatos who raised another boy and turn him into a weapon and it was Xanatos who got that same boy killed. Every step, every action it was Xanatos choosing to inflict suffering on others to fuel his need for revenge. That you were the object of his obsession is irrelevant to the assignation of blame. It is past time you see that man for the monster he IS and not the boy he was once.”

            Once Mace finished his speech the room fell into a less than companionable silence. Qui-Gon swallowed the knee-jerk retort that had been on his lips and the close of Mace’s rebuke and instead chose to consider the other Jedi’s words. Yes, it had been Xanatos that instigated and perpetrated the horrific acts of the past year, but something still didn’t sit right with dismissing the young man as simply evil incarnate. Evil wasn’t bred in the bone; it was learned in the body. Who was to say that it wasn’t his own faulty lessons that began Xanatos down this path? When did Xanatos first become this monster? Telos? Bandomeer? Coruscant? Which choices were his own and which were forced upon him?

            Qui-Gon shook his head derailing the increasingly convoluted train of thought. It was only a matter of collateral blame to determine the exact moment Xanatos became… whatever he was now. What did matter, and in this Mace would never convince him otherwise, was that _he_ was responsible for putting Obi-Wan in Xanatos’s crosshairs. He had known that on Bandomeer, but instead of correcting that or protecting his padawan, he had allowed the child to be taken and abused. How could he call himself a master when he had failed, repeatedly, at upholding his most sacred duty?

            “You still don’t believe me, do you?” Mace asked when Qui-Gon went several minutes without speaking. Qui-Gon gave him a darting glance and as he looked away the silence seemed to grow heavier than before. Mace ran both hands over his smooth, hairless head and let out a breath. “What about the Agondi Mortata? Will you have him go through the ceremony or handle it privately?”

            Not answering immediately, Qui-Gon rose from his seat and walked over to his balcony doors. He stared out into the Coruscanti night and watched the endless weave of light trails left by the ships and speeders of the ever-bustling megalopolis.

            The Agondi Mortata was one of the oldest rites of passage within the Jedi Order. Commonly accepted to have originated on Tython, the first home of the Jedi, the Agondi Mortata was known as the Trial of Mortal Sorrow – so named because it marked the first time a Jedi was forced to take the life of another. No Jedi sought to kill, but death, at times, was unavoidable. Sometimes, Jedi were compelled to end someone’s life, but always in defense of their life or someone else’s, always in defense of the Light. However, the reasons behind a mortal strike did not lessen the moral conflict the action caused. This conflict was usually made all the more intense and regrettable because of the Jedi’s age.

            Most first kills were made by Jedi still in their padawan years.

            Qui-Gon finally allowed himself the indulgence of a deep and audible sigh.

            It was true that most Jedi experiencing the Agondi were padawans, but rarely were they as young as his apprentice. At the tender age of thirteen, Obi-Wan was contending with trials he should have been years away from facing. But then again, that was part of the reason the Agondi ceremony had been created. A simple, quiet, and solemn affair, the Communas was a gathering of knights, masters, and some padawans that would surround the single Jedi and fill him or her with their compassion, comfort, and understanding. Every Jedi present would have passed through their own Agondi and could therefore fully empathize with the pain so freshly felt by the Jedi who now joined their sorrowful ranks. The Communas was about community and compassion. It was designed to offer a safe place to both mourn the life and innocence lost as well as begin to heal the wounds left by their taking.

            Personally, and as an adept of the Living Force, Qui-Gon had always found the ceremony particularly beautiful. It had always felt good to help ease the way for another, and so he participated in the event whenever it was called and he was in residence at the Temple; at least he had until he returned from Telos without an apprentice. Qui-Gon had stopped then, finding only pain and sorrow in a time and place where he had once only seen beauty and love.

            Now it was time for him and his padawan to face the Communas. Qui-Gon’s reflection echoed his wry smile. Perhaps his padawan wasn’t the only one facing a great trial. He turned to faced his company once more.

            “I think… I think the Communas could be beneficial,” Qui-Gon spoke pausing before adding “for us both.”

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

            Full relief did come not after Lantis’s waking. There had been a knot in his heart that had loosened upon having her orange eyes gaze upon him after so long an absence, but so much doubt and uncertainty still clung to Vresh, pulling him down under the waters of his sanity. He needed to meditate, to center himself, to rediscover the peaceful core of his being he had known most of his life, but could not. He had tried, oh he had tried! But that stillness eluded him with ever attempt. He knew the healers had grown wary of him, that they suspected he was a step away from tossing their equipment around the room in a rage fueled Force tempest – not that he was angry…

            Well, he was a _little_ angry, after all it was _his_ padawan who had been so seriously injured, in the Temple, under the protection and supervision of the Jedi. The same Jedi who had missed Xanatos’s repeated entries into the Temple. The same Jedi who had allowed a dangerous monster to sleep in the same quarters with padawans. Padawans they were oath bound to protect. A padawan _he_ was supposed to protect.

            A padawan he failed.

            Vresh sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his face. Perhaps the healers were right to be afraid.

            “Morning, Master.”

            Vresh started at the sound of the his padawan’s quietly spoken greeting, his hand immediately falling from his face and his expression shifting from despondent exasperation to soft affection.

            “Morning, Scamp,” he replied as he rose from his chair and carefully leaned over the medical couch. “How are you feeling?”

            The master watched as the young felinoid closed her eyes and focused her attention inwards. She was silent for several moments then a deep crease appeared between her furry brows, her eyes opening a few heartbeats later. The reaction elicited a corresponding spike of worry in Vresh’s chest.

            “What’s wrong? Are you in pain? I’ll get Ar,” he hurriedly spoke reaching for the call button, but the sound of his padawan’s voice stopped him mid reach.

            “No, Master. I don’t feel any pain. I don’t feel… anything,” she said her voice rising and her eyes widening. “Master, I don’t feel anything! I don’t feel anything!”

            “Shhh, shhh, it’s alright now. It’s okay, Padawan,” Vresh cooed as he brushed gently against her whiskers and sent wave after wave of calm and love over their training bond. But Lantis would not be calmed. The panic in her mind slammed repeatedly against his shields smothering his attempts at reassurance.

            “Master, I can’t feel my legs!” she continued, her voice high and strained nearly into a yowl. The pain and distress in her voice, in her face, in the bond, forced Vresh into instinctive action. He gathered up her small body in his arms, pulling her close and cradling her head against his chest. Her arms scrambled about his torso, her paws and claws clutching madly at his robes before settling into a death grip around his ribs. Vresh did not even register the physical pain her actions caused.

            “I know, Lani, I know. I’ve got you though. I’ve got you and I’m not letting go,” he mumbled over and over into the short fur of head in a desperate mantra.

            “Is it… is it permanent?” came a whisper from below his chin. In that moment, Vresh wanted nothing more in the world than to lie to her, to tell her not to worry, that she would walk and run and jump and spar and do all the things she had always taken such delight in, but he could not. He could not lie to her, not now. Not with this. This was too important. _She_ was too important.

            “They don’t know, Lani. They hope so. I hope so,” he answered. He pulled back from her just slightly so that he could see her face. “But no matter what happens, we will get through this. We will face it together and we will get through it.”

            A fur covered face damp with tears starred back at him, incredulity coursing across the bond.

            “How, Master? How do we get through this?” she asked her voice thick with sobs fighting to breaking through. Vresh pulled her back to his chest and holding her tightly to him.

            “I… I don’t know, Lani. I don’t know, but we will. We will. We will,” he answered rocking her in his arms. The padawan continued to pour her pain into his robes and her master continued to rock her in his arm, repeating in whispered tones his two-word vow.

            It was a long time before either of them stopped.


End file.
